Alex Severin's unique brand of dark, erotic prose will kick you in the ass and grab you by the heart.

Set in the novel world of the VAMPIRE VINTAGE series, this is an introduction to characters your will be seeing a lot more of in the near future.

With a Foreword by Alex Severin, six VAMPIRE VINTAGE stories (three online favorites and three exclusives,) a lengthy novel excerpt, and a SECRET story online you'll find a link for in the book. There's also four bonus stories too.

From THE BIRTH OF LORD RUTHVENA short note at the top of the story page stated that a novel, Bloody Love had been born from this short story and was due for mass market publication very soon.

+CruxShadow666+ began to read.

He was perched on the edge of his seat, his breathing rapid, muscles taut as he read. Soon, the throb between his legs became unbearable, his cock rigid and pressed hard against the hot leather of his trousers. He fumbled frantically to pull them down but his zipper was stuck and the material adhered to the excited sweat on his skin. He huffed and puffed, panted, swearing at his uncooperative pants and vowing to kill them if they did not comply.

From SOME OF YOUR GOTHIC BLOOD He thought his neatly trimmed Van Dyk beard made him look like a hot Satan. Eddie Crowe really and truly thought he was the shit.

But this wasn’t going to be any ordinary night of stringless sex. These three gothic goddesses wanted something more from Eddie Crowe other than raw, animal fucking. They wanted something else from him – The Goth Star – but it wasn’t his body, it wasn’t risky impregnation, infamy and child support.

It wasn’t just his body they were after.

They wanted what was inside him.

From BLOODY LOVERSOnly when she was sure every candle was lit and in place did she turn off the main light in her apartment.

There were dozens of them, all shapes and sizes, but each one made from virginal-white wax and placed in a black glass holder. They covered every flat, stable surface in the room.

A plume of heady-scented incense smoke swirled lazily into the air; the room was filled with the aroma of red and black berries and a hint of frankincense, a top note of exotic spices from far away places. The scent made her think of excited sweat on dark skin.

From VAMPIRE VINTAGE : BOOK ONE – BELLADONNA IN HOLLYWOODAnd now, back home and in her room, radio on and again listening to the sound of his voice, Belladonna could now see his face when she closed her eyes, could see his hypnotic stare. She felt the tide of her blood rise, throbbing inside her like never before, and found the rhythm of her own hips as she sweated in the dark.

He had helped her on the arduous journey to being a woman, made her feel things she had never felt, want things she had not experienced, things she knew nothing of before. And now, she wanted much more of him than just his words. She wanted to feel more than the touch of her own hand and the sound of his voice.

From THE MODIFICATION OF A STUPID CUNTI stare at my dark reflection, at the scars where searing brand marks once were, at the pieces of metal he raped my flesh with – coils of wire, steel plates, metal springs and spikes and studs – tiny pieces of pain scavenged from dead machines.

I cut away these scars now, cut them out with surgical steel that flashes in the half-light. There are more scars now, bigger, deeper, uglier. But they are my scars, scars that I have made. I chose to make these, not him. I have erased his signature from my skin – all except one. I always leave one. I cannot bare to remove every trace.

From LITTLE PRICKIt took him a whole minute to shoot his load – in and out a couple of dozen times; my tired, bored pussy drier than the Sahara, the pussy he couldn’t get wet if he poured a bucket of water over it.

I hate the cruel straight line he calls a mouth. I have always found it at odds with his elegant speech, the words he uses, his impeccable pronunciation. It just does not seem right that such eloquence should come from that hateful gash in his face.

From THE BLAIRIt was a dark and brooding building; twisted, sparsely leaved vines clawed their way up her facade like painful arthritic fingers. The wild and unruly grounds reached up from the earth as if they were trying to pull the house down into the comfort of her muddy womb.

Her broken windows were like soulless, sightless eyes. But Victoria knew the building was not soulless – she felt that within those rotting walls lived the souls of many.

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About Alex Severin

Alex Severin was born in the Scottish Highlands, but was recently transplanted to the Wild, Wild West of the USA.
She writes short stories, novels, screenplays, and loves to write about things that both repel and fascinate.